


Spill it out

by Daniela_is_not_amused



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders has freckles, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Logic | Logan Sanders Has Feelings, Logic | Logan Sanders Is A Good Friend, Sad Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sort Of, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Werewolf Anxiety | Virgil Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daniela_is_not_amused/pseuds/Daniela_is_not_amused
Summary: Virgil has been acting weird for weeks. Logan wants to know what's going on with his friend.---Or, Virgil gets turned into a werewolf and tries to hide it from everyone. He should have a little bit more faith in his best friend.





	Spill it out

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. Not beta-read. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

"All right, spill," Logan said. He leaned back against the arm of the leather couch, opening a window of space between him and Virgil, but also allowing himself to see his best friend’s face. Virgil was slumped on the center couch cushion, the vein in his forehead throbbing from some tension that Logan could only guess at. Logan had rarely seen him this worried, though he had been seeing it so much more over the past few weeks. Logan smoothed a hand down one jean-clad leg, half reaching for his friend, but stopping before the gesture could finish turning into that. Like any scared animal, Virgil would only react badly to sudden movements, to touches that he hadn't granted some permission for.

"Spill what?" Virgil asked, his eyebrows crawling up to his hairline. He looked down at the can of Coke nestled in his hand, ran a thumb over a drop of condensation on the outside and smeared it around. An abandoned video game controller was balanced on one knee.

Logan let out a slow breath, gathering his thoughts, calming his anxiety. "For … _ days _ … now, you've been hinting, hedging, backtracking around _ something _. I can tell that it's killing you not to talk about it, so: spill." A command, yes, but he tried to make it sound more like an invitation. He set his own can of Coke on the coffee table in front of the couch, careful to place a coaster under it so the moisture wouldn't mar the wood. He nudged the video game controller also on the coffee table, the one he'd been using, further away so the Coke would lean on it in case the drink got knocked over. The TV screen glowed with the light from the pause screen of the video game they had been playing.

Virgil sprawled farther down into the couch cushions, his legs spreading, one hand coming up to massage the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The freckles that covered his entire body stood out against skin that looked paler than usual. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping. Virgil looked like he was trying to summon the nerve to speak without actually having much success. If there had been anyone in the room except for the two of them, Logan would have understood the hesitation, the inability to trust that whatever couldn’t be bottled up anymore wouldn't explode like a shaken bottle of champagne. But there wasn't anyone else in the room, and a part of Logan couldn't help wondering when things had changed between them, when Virgil lost the ability to tell him everything without question. He had to get that back.

He could hear his parents moving around upstairs, their footsteps echoing through the floorboards and into the basement area that Logan and his brothers had turned into a rec room years before. He'd always liked the room, had been proud of what they had accomplished in converting an unfinished basement into a warm hang-out, but now he was doubly glad for the additional privacy. 

The fact that Virgil still hadn't spoken didn’t go unnoticed and Logan felt his stomach sink.

Logan leaned forward, not able to wait any longer, and set his hand on Virgil's leg, just above his knee. He gave a light squeeze. Virgil's eyes drifted closed and back open, the tension around his mouth easing. His whole body tilted toward Logan in an unconscious request for more contact. Logan pulled the Coke out of Virgil's fingers and set it in its own coaster, then wrapped his arms around him. The last thing Virgil needed, it seemed, was more space between them.

Virgil mumbled something into Logan's shoulder, then froze as if expecting to be pushed away.

"Try again," Logan suggested, careful not to push his friend away, even for the precious millimeters that would make his words understandable. "My arm got in the way."

"Never mind," Virgil replied, tearing away on his own. He jumped to his feet, crossed over the large screen TV that dominated the back wall, and punched the light switch wth more strength than necessary. The screen flickered, went dark. A low buzzing that had been filling the room disappeared with the light. "God, that noise." Virgil pawed at his ears as if he couldn't decide whether to cover them or rip them off. "How could you stand that noise?"

Logan's eyes narrowed. He thought about how Virgil had grown testier and testier while they battled each other on the video game, how Virgil had started to make started to make stupid mistakes in the game, how he'd started to take Logan's typical, and good-natured, ribbing far too seriously. If this was how he was going to be—

"It's too much," Virgil continued. "Why didn't he _ warn _ me? The sounds, the colors, the smells." He turned a slow circle as if searching for a cord he could unplug or a switch to flip. "God, the smells. The bastard should have _ said _something."

"You're being vague again," Logan pointed out. Virgil was pacing in front of the TV now, clearly worked up. He had his hands wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers and head had become too heavy to hold up without that support.

"Fine. You wanna know?" Virgil rounded on him. "I’m a werewolf. There, I said it." He narrowed his eyes at Logan as if challenging him to fight back, to demand evidence, to shout for help.

Logan gave a slight shrug. "Yeah. I know." He eyed his friend, his more-than-just-friends friend. Qualifying their relationship was more complicated than Logan had ever wanted to bother with. It was easier — had always been easier — to accept that the rules that governed their relationship were imposed by no one except themselves. And those rules were nebulous at the best of times. It meant they were free to explore, knowing that they would always be safe with each other. It also meant that they knew each other better than they knew themselves; without a need to impress each other, the two boys had seen every facet, every quirk the other had to offer.

"What do you mean you know?" Virgil's eyes flared — which was kinda cool, especially considering how easily he had slipped into allowing it; there'd been no effort to hide or lie about the slip — and his top lip curled back in a snarl.

Logan merely shook his head. As much as he didn't want to downplay Virgil's revelation to the point of dismissing it, sometimes lengthy explanations weren't in order. "I’m, well, me”, he said, tapping his chest with his thumb.

The blind white light melted back to the brown Logan couldn't help dreaming about. It was fascinating to see up close, the white change to brown without passing through yellow.

"You knew?" Virgil repeated, voice lower, as if tasting the idea the words represented. His shoulders drooped. "How? How long?"

Another small shrug. It didn't matter, really. Virgil wasn't exactly subtle about anything. When he came to school the morning after the winter formal with his anxiety levels turned up as high as they'd go, Logan had known something was up. Granted, werewolf wasn't his first guess. But, Logan had some experience with seemingly impenetrable code until it unraveled, and he knew Virgil better than computer programs he'd designed and built from the ground up. He also had some experience drawing conclusions based on the evidence and not his expectations.

It didn't take him long to put the pieces together: the harsh mood swings, the sudden habit Virgil had developed for hiding running away from everyone, Logan and Patton included, when upset, the strange fixation with anything meat based. Though it wasn't entirely appropriate to the moment, Logan couldn’t help wondering who the "he" was in Virgil's diatribe. He had a couple ideas, but decided it was more appropriate to set that thought aside to be dealt with after Virgil's identity crisis.

Speaking of which: "Remember when I came out to you? What you said then?" Logan asked. Virgil frowned as he tried to remember. A door slammed upstairs. Logan instinctively glanced at the door that lead to the main floor. It remained shut, a thin streak of light under the crack at the bottom. If anyone had been standing there, listening in, they'd block the light. Logan did not need his brothers overhearing or walking in on this. 

"No one is listening," Virgil commented, able, as always, to figure out exactly what Logan was worried about. He took a breath, then licked his lips as he recalled his words from that day, each word he'd spoken so planned and rehearsed that they felt like someone else's in his mouth. Apparently the memory of that conversation hadn't been as powerful for Virgil, not that Logan would ever grudge him that. 

"I told you to get over yourself," Virgil stated, speaking the quote as if he wasn't quite sure that he'd gotten it right.

A small smile from the memory tugged at the corners of Logan's mouth. Of all the responses he'd heard from his family and friends and neighbors, Virgil had managed to be the winner in the no tact contest. And, yet, if he'd said anything else, he wouldn't have been Virgil and they wouldn't have been able to stay friends because Virgil had do it right: he'd refused to change how he thought about a guy whom he really hadn't known long enough to have earned that kind of respect.

Logan pushed himself to his feet and crossed over to Virgil, who took a small, unconscious step forward as if to meet him. Clapping his hands on his friend's shoulders,

"You're a werewolf." Virgil's head tilted up, drawing taut the line of his throat. His brown eyes met Logan's own eyes. "Knowing you, it _ was _a choice, maybe poorly planned, but a choice nonetheless." He could feel Virgil tense, prickle at accusation, at the removal of a complete parallel between them. "Now would be a good time to take your own advice." To ease the sting of his words, he pulled his friend close, arms enveloping him. The tension disappeared.

Virgil wouldn't listen to what Logan said this time, to his best friend echoing his own words. He wouldn't know how to take his own advice, no matter whom it came from. But that's what Logan was there for. While he didn't know what the whole werewolf thing entailed — and he suspected that Virgil didn't either — he knew the two of them would just do what they had always done: They would make their own rules, and it would all work out. It always did.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated.


End file.
